


Blitzed

by chewysugar



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Affectionate Peter, Crack, Drug Use, Gen, Humor, Mild Language, Panic, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 02:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14510724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Peter accidentally gets into something that belongs to Scott.





	Blitzed

**Author's Note:**

> I know it can't make up for the heartbreaking, senseless, devastation of Infinity War. But hopefully this puts a smile on someone's face.

Mischief crawled into the world shortly after Scott had. At least, that’s what Scott believed. A string of disappointments trailed in the wake of every single scrape he’d gotten himself into. He’d tried his utmost to go the way of the straight and narrow: he’d gone through the church, went through life coaching not to mention hours and hundreds of dollars of therapy. And yet every time things habitually fell to ruin.

So, naturally Scott concluded the most obvious thing: an embodiment of Mischief was responsible for every screw up in his life.

That, at least, was what he had to remind himself the second he entered his room in Avengers Tower. The sight greeting him was straight out of, if not a nightmare, than someone's idea of a poor joke.

A small TupperWare container of Gummy Bears sat nearly half-empty on his bedside table. That was nothing compared to the person sitting on the floor with a wide, stupid grin on his young face.

“Fuck me!” Scott’s yell was audible clear along the corridor and down the staircase.

The teenager on the ground only let out a gormless laugh in response. Scott had enough time to envision Rita Hayworth singing, “ _put the blame on Lang, boys; put the blame on Lang_ ”—then he sank to his knees and seized the gibbering adolescent by the shoulders.

“Kid—Peter, how many of those Gummy Bears did you eat?”

Peter Parker—boy genius, liver of the life most tragic, and friendly neighborhood Spider-Man—continued to giggle madly. Scott shook him bodily once more.

“Hey!” Scott pried one of Peter’s eyelids open and—yep—the kid’s pupils were the size of Oreo cookies. “Peter—speak, you son of a bitch, speak!” Scott shook Peter so hard that his head flopped from side to side, as if he were on a thrill ride.

“Wheeeeeee!” Peter sang stupidly. “Mister Lang…Mis-ter La-aaaaaang.” Peter extended the syllables, still with a placid grin. “Everything is colorful now. Colorful because of the Gummy Bears. I didn’t meant to eat so many…just twelve or so…tw-eeeeeeel-vuhhhhhh.”

“Oh God.” Scott groaned, and clutched Peter to his chest. He looked upwards to an unkind and unresponsive Heaven. “How could you?” Scott seethed to the angels. “Belting me upside the head is one thing, but to take it out on this precious baby who never did you any harm, not one moment of harm!”

Peter gasped into Scott’s chest. Then he inhaled, and burst into renewed tittering. “You smell nice, Mister Lang.” Peter took a deep long sniff—too long, and not only was it too long, but he was practically smashing his face into Scott’s chest.

“Gah!” Scott held the boy at arm’s length. Peter groaned, a deep pout forming on his lips.

“Oh God, I never should have left that out!” But what the hell else was to be expected of him when he was holed up here? 

At that moment, a figure walked passed the open door to Scott’s bedroom, then paused.

“Do I even want to know what’s going…on…here…” Natasha glanced from the Gummy Bears to the dopey teenage superhero beaming up at her. Her eyes met Scott’s, and her lips parted in shock.

“Oh God,” Natasha whispered.

“Calm down,” Scott clambered to his feet. Peter groaned, and then wrapped his arms around Scott’s leg. “What the—

“Don’t,” Peter whined. “You can’t leave me here with the Goat Man!”

“With the—what are you talking about?”

Peter only moaned in response. Then he beat the precedent of awkwardness set by sniffing Scott earlier, and buried his face in Scott’s knee.

“How much did you have?” Natasha demanded.

“Not a lot,” Scott said. He tried his best to shake Peter off. Given that the kid possessed ten times his own strength, he may well have tried to wrest a vice off himself. “Just—around—five hundred—dollars worth.”

“Five hundr—Lang!” Sparks of fury flashed in Natasha eyes. “That’s not _not_ a lot. That’s enough to bring down a blue whale!”

“What do you want from me, N-Ro? Everyone walks around this place like they’re in some Chekov tragedy. Sue me for wanting to lighten my mood once in a few hours.”

“You’re fighting,” Peter sighed. “Please don’t fight, I hate it when you fight.”

Scott grimaced. Of course, he didn’t have his suit on. The possibility of shrinking himself out of Peter’s grasp was nothing short of impossible now.

“What were you even doing in here?” Scott demanded. He remembered adults yelling at him when he’d been tripping balls in his teens. It hadn’t exactly worked, but it also had distracted him from the fog of his high.

“The door was open,” Peter moaned. “And there were Gummy Bears.”

Natasha’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “Alright. We’re not getting anywhere blaming anybody…even if this is about seventy per cent your fault, Lang.”

Scott could only respond with a series of indignant, apoplectic gasping sounds. Peter took that moment to relinquish his hold. He crawled across the floor on hands and knees like a stoned puppy. It was only when Scott and Natasha saw where it was that he was aiming that they both hopped to action.

“No!” Scott snatched the container of Gummy Bears off the nightstand. He held it over his head, glowering at Peter as the boy turned big, brown puppydog eyes on him. The look was so utterly devastating that, for a good four seconds, Scott considered relenting.

“Ugh.” Natasha snatched the container from Scott. “I’m throwing this out.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Scott stormed. “I paid for that with mostly my own, and partially other people’s, money!”

Natasha glared at him.

“I’ll cut you in on it,” Scott said. “You can take half for yourself and leave the rest for me, kay?”

“No!” Peter made a valiant effort to get to his feet. But his limbs had reached wet noodle stage. He plopped promptly back onto the ground. “You can’t take those. You’ll see the Goat Man.” He peered into a corner of Scott’s room. His eyes went wide as if he’d seen a ghost and he huddled towards Scott’s legs. “Save me, Mister Lang! I don’t want the Goat Man to eat my balls!”

Natasha gasped; Scott shrieked. “You can’t talk like that! You’re just a little baby!”

“M’sixteen,” Peter moaned.

“What are we going to do with him?” Natasha demanded. “He could be like this for hours.”

“Maybe we can trick him into falling asleep. He’ll get it out of his system that way, and not be afraid of Goat people or get into mischief.” Scott crouched down on his haunches and tried to smile as unthreateningly as possible at the kid. Peter merely cocked his head to the side, as if Scott had turned into some kind of Disney property after decades of operating under the banner of Twentieth Century Fox.

“Peter,” Scott said kindly, “I think it’s time for you to go to bed now.”

“Are you going to cuddle with me, Mister Lang?” Peter smiled beatifically.

Rendered speechless, Scott stared as if he’d had a cinder block cracked over his head.

“Oo-kay.” Natasha knelt next to Scott. “Add that to the months of therapy I’m going to need. Peter--” the kid turned to her, bristling like a frightened cat --“do you want to sleep in the VIP room? The bed is comfortable and there are black out curtains.”

“Your hair,” Peter said in astonishment. He ran his fingers through the Black Widow’s scarlet tresses. “It makes music, Natasha. It’s singing to me. Everything is singing to me.” He smiled at nothing in particular and began to rock from side to side to a rhythm only he could hear.

Scott and Natasha stood up.

“Tea,” Scott said with a snap of his fingers that made Peter start. “I can make him a nice, strong cup of tea.”

“You’re not leaving me here alone with him!” Natasha said. “And I’m not leaving him here alone with you, and neither of us are leaving him here alone.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not a person,” Peter sobbed, his song quite forgotten. “I’m a human! With real feelings! Like Britney Spears!” And with that he promptly launched back into his tuneless dance, floor-bound dance.

Scott did some rapid-fire thinking. Bad as he was at basic social skills—miserable as he was when it came to arts, crafts and cooking, he counted himself useful in a crisis. That was likely why Tony had recruited him during the squabble with Captain America and his metal-armed boyfriend.

“Okay,” he said at last. “We need to get him lucid. We need to not draw any attention to this bad _Abbot and Costello_ movie I’ve landed us all in—

“I'd better be Abbott,” Natasha muttered.

“—obviously we can’t leave him by himself—“

“Abbott always got the best bits,” Natasha added.

“—so barring a restorative cup of tea—“

“Also, why did Bela Lugosi play Frankenstein’s monster in _Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein_?” Natasha seemed to be engaged in a one-sided conversation with a still gently humming Peter.

“—or me ending up on the wrong side of Chris Hansen _vis-à-vis_ spooning a minor—

“Boris Karloff was way better than Bela Lugosi.”

“—I suggest we get him to the showers.”

Natasha paused in her reminiscence of Classic Hollywood cinema. “That could work,” Natasha said. “The showers are just down the hall and around the corner.”

“We can give him the Lori Petty treatment,” Scott said. “Clothes, cold water… the works. You take his legs, I’ll take his arms.”

Scott expected Peter to put up a show of resistance. Instead, as he and Natasha took their respective posts, the kid flattened onto the floor like a starfish.

“Yay!” He sang. “We’re going the waterpark; we’re going to the waterpark!”

“Sure,” Scott said. “We’ll stop and get cotton candy on the way back.”

“I think he’s had about enough of your candy today, Lang.”

Scott glared at Natasha. Then they hoisted Peter off the floor.

They’d both just entered the corridor when Fate intervened in the form of Tony Stark. He came out of the coffee room with a raw hot dog between his lips. He stopped and stared at Scott, Natasha and Peter; Scott and Natasha stared right back.

Peter suddenly dropped from between his two carriers. He sat up on his knees and beamed at Tony.

Tony’s eyes widened, and he sank to the floor.

“I can explain!” Scott said.

Peter shuffled across the ground to Tony. Then he chomped down on one end of Tony’s hot dog. Natasha and Scott both yelped. Tony’s eyes went even wider. He backed away, tearing the hot dog in the middle. The remainder of the wiener disappeared into his mouth. He wiped his lips and goatee on the back of his hand.

“What have you done to him?” He glowered at Scott with all the fury of a father. “What have you done to my sweet little boy?!”

Peter laughed. “I had some of Mister Lang’s Gummy Bears!” And then he furthered the horror of the ordeal by crawling into Tony’s lap. He slung his arms around the older man’s neck and buried his face against the front of his sweater.

“He’s my daaaaaad,” Peter sighed.

Tony didn’t try to upset Peter from the awkward position. He slid one arm under the boy’s legs and got to his feet.

“Unbelievable,” Tony said, still glaring at Scott and Natasha. “There’s irresponsibility, and then there’s this.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Natasha said.

Tony shook his head. He held Peter to him as if he were a precious object. “Unbelievable,” he repeated. Then he turned, carrying Peter bridal style, and walked back down the corridor.

Scott smiled innocently at Natasha. “Hey now…don’t give me that look. You want some Gummy Bears?”

He had one split second to commend his own ballsiness.

Then Natasha punched him in the face.

**Author's Note:**

> Do let me know what you think!


End file.
